


Little Plastic Soldiers

by jibberjabber13



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood Friends, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romance, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibberjabber13/pseuds/jibberjabber13
Summary: Vincent starts playing games with toy soldiers, his dad comes home a different man, and Sam struggles with his feelings towards his best friend.





	Little Plastic Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> I don't exactly know what it is about this little game that keeps inspiring me to write things, but hey, I'm not complaining ;) Please enjoy this little fic idea that came to me a couple nights ago.

About thirty little, green plastic soldiers stood in formation on the wooden kitchen table, placed in two lines facing one another. A small red-headed boy loomed over them, sitting with his knees tucked under to make himself taller. He maneuvered the soldiers with his tiny hands and accompanied the movements with sound effects. Pow, pow, bang, bang, boom.

Sam stood leaning against the doorway to his room, watching his brother play. He’d given the boy the toy soldiers as a Winter Star present and could still remember the delighted look on his face as he pulled them out of his stocking. Sam smiled to himself.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen, reaching out to ruffle Vincent’s hair. “Hey Lil’ Vince,” he said with a cheerful grin. “Whatcha got there? Big battle?”

Vincent looked up at him with wide eyes. “The _biggest_ battle,” he said. “It’s the Ferngill Republic versus the Gotoro Empire.”

Sam grimaced, knowing exactly where Vincent was going with this setup. “Sounds exciting,” he said.

“Yeah and see this one?” Vincent held up one of the toy soldiers. “This is Dad. He saves everyone at the end with his grenades.”

Sam sighed, then plastered on a smile for his brother. He felt the skin of his cheeks stretch. “That’s great, Vincent. I bet Dad would be super happy about that.”

He closed his eyes and prayed that the conversation wouldn’t go down its usual route, where Vincent would inevitably ask when his dad was coming home. Sam didn’t know. His mom didn’t know. No one knew. For all they knew, Kent could be dead on a battlefield somewhere, rotting away. Maybe the worms would get to see him before they did.

Sam shook his his head vigorously, as if trying to dump the dark thoughts out of his head. He was normally Pelican Town’s embodiment of human sunshine, the only villager more persistently optimistic than Emily, the blue-haired and spunky bartender. He didn’t get to feel sad. Not when his little brother still held out hope.

“Can I play with you?” Sam asked, sliding out a chair across from Vincent and sitting down. 

Vincent looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if Sam joining the game would ruin all of his carefully crafted plans.

“I’ll be the Gotoro Empire,” Sam offered. Usually, if he agreed to be the bad guy, Vincent would let him participate in his games. In Cops and Robbers, Sam was always the robber. When they reenacted Star Wars together—the scene where Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader have their lightsaber battle in Return of the Jedi—Sam played Darth Vader. He figured it was a small price to pay to make Vincent happy.

Vincent paused, a little green soldier still in midair, then nodded. Sam offered him a genuine smile, corners of his eyes crinkling, and began to move his pieces around on the kitchen table battlefield.

* * *

“I’m worried about Vincent,” his mom said to him one afternoon. She was standing next to the sink, wearing her favorite blue apron with the flowers on the front, whipping up a batch of cookies. “He’s obsessed with those little soldiers.”

Sam shrugged and fiddled with the guitar pick in his left hand. He’d been on his way to band practice with Abigail and Sebastian when Jodi stopped him. “He’s just messing around with them. Typical kid stuff. No big deal, Mom.” He didn’t mention what Vincent had said about his father being the big war hero.

“I just...” Jodi sighed and turned around to face Sam. She wiped her hands on her apron as she talked. “Don’t want him to still be thinking about Dad.”

“You can’t control his thoughts,” Sam said, then cracked a grin. “Unless you got some sweet superpowers you’re not telling me about.”

Jodi laughed, a small sound, then shook her head. “You’re insufferable, Sam. Go have fun.”

He readjusted the guitar case he was holding in his right hand and walked out the door. As he plodded through piles of snow in the town square, he shivered, feeling the chill in the valley’s winter air. Sam hated winter, and the way it made everything dead and quiet and lifeless. It was only a couple days after the Feast of the Winter Star, but he wished the weather would get warmer already.

Just before he turned onto the path towards the mountains, he saw bright purple hair that stood out against the white snow like a beacon. Abigail. She was standing in front of a tree, purple polka-dotted gloves on her hands, trying to hammer a flyer onto a tree trunk. Each time she brought the hammer down, it bent the nail even more, and she swore loudly.

“Abi?” he called out. She jumped and turned around.

“Sam, hey,” she said, reaching a hand up to her heart, as if to slow it down. “What’s up?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing out here?” he said.

Abigail sighed, then lowered her hammer. The nail fell to the ground followed by the paper, which fluttered in the air for a few moments before resting gently in the snow. “Community service. Lewis is having me hang up these flyers announcing his campaign for mayor in the spring,” she grumbled. “Like he ever fucking loses anyway.”

Sam laughed. He himself had the record for the most hours of community service in town, a product of his affinity for harmless pranks. Well, he thought of them as harmless; he wasn’t so sure his neighbors, who had a nasty round of “digestive trouble” after he put anchovies and extra spicy hot peppers in the luau soup two years ago, felt the same way.

“What’d you do?” he asked.

“I may or may not have tried to summon a spirit right in the middle of the Winter Star feast. During Mayor Lewis’s big toast.” Abigail held up her hands. “In my defense, the wizard was there and offered to show me how.”

“You mean the guy who wears that purple cowboy hat?”

Abigail huffed and placed her fists on her hips, fingers still curled around the handle of the hammer. “It probably helps him like, receive magical visions or whatever, okay?”

“Right,” Sam said. He felt disappointed that he’d missed Abigail’s big stunt. That year, he and his mom had decided their family would have a nice night in during the Winter Star. It didn’t feel right going without his father. “Well, I’m gonna go stop by Sebastian’s. I’ll see you later at the saloon, yeah?”

She gave him a nod and refocused her attention on the flyer, which was now sopping wet as she picked it up off the ground with a disgusted look. Sam chuckled, then continued up the road to Sebastian’s house.

Down in the basement, Sebastian sat hunched over his computer. As usual, the room was dim, illuminated only by a single lamp in each of the far corners. Sam wondered how Sebastian could do his work like that. 

His friend’s face glowed in the computer screen’s light, his expression softly lit. As Sam’s eyes traced the smooth, defined jawline of Sebastian’s face, he felt himself blush just a bit. Recently, he’d playing this game with himself where he tried to pretend that he didn’t notice the way his heart rate sped up when Seb smiled at him, really smiled, or feel tension when their fingers brushed while handing each other drinks at the saloon or passing pages of lyrics back and forth. 

He wondered if Seb ever felt the same way about him.

Sebastian looked up at Sam after a few moments of silence with a small, close-lipped smile. He liked to show emotion in bite-sized pieces. “Hey,” he said. “Where’s Abi?”

Sam walked over and flopped onto Sebastian’s bed, staring up at the ceiling where a cobweb was starting to form. “She got community service hours. Something about trying to summon an ancient spirit or whatever.”

A laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“I guess we could just jam or something,” Sam said, sitting up and pulling his shirt back down from where it had ridden up. Sebastian was watching him closely with an odd expression on his face. In the glow of the computer, it almost looked like his cheeks were pink. 

“Sure,” he said and walked over to where his keyboard was set up. He started to play a few notes, then looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Do you ever feel, um...”

“Feel what?” Sam could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. Sebastian seemed more serious than usual, a glint in his eyes like he wanted to say something important, and Sam felt nervous to hear what it was.

“Nevermind, forget it,” Sebastian mumbled and brushed his hair back over his face to cover it.

The moment was gone. Sam unzipped the guitar out of its case and joined Sebastian as they played for the rest of the afternoon, not saying much in between songs.

* * *

About a week into the spring season, Sam received the news he never thought he’d hear: his dad was returning home. The letter arrived on a Tuesday informing his mom that they decided to discharge him. He’d completed his tour of duty.

He awoke the morning his dad was supposed to arrive in Pelican Town from a dream that involved Sebastian. Having been his best friend for over twelve years, Sam was used to having dreams about the dark-haired boy. But this one was...different. It involved hot, open-mouthed kisses and firm grasps and a hell of a lot of moaning. Sam felt flushed upon waking up, and as he looked down, he realized it had more of an impact on him than he initially thought.

As he pulled on a blue polo shirt, ironed by his mom the night before, he tried to compose himself. It meant nothing. They were just friends, and his dad was coming home today, and he needed to be focused.

In the living room, Jodi wrestled a pair of dress shoes onto a fidgeting Vincent, who complained that they pinched his toes. He wore a gray polo, so as not to clash with his vibrant hair. Sam knew Jodi must have planned that.

“Just put your shoes on, sweetie,” Jodi gritted through her teeth. She turned to look up at Sam. “Daddy’s going to be at the airport in Zuzu City. I’m going to go pick him up from there. Do you think you can watch Vincent for me? And maybe put the casserole in the oven? I want dinner to be ready when he gets home.”

“Sure thing, Mom,” Sam said. He scratched under his collar, where the polo was starting to itch. It made him feel like he was choking. He questioned why his mom had made them get dressed up if they weren’t even going to the airport, but he decided not to say anything. Jodi had started tugging at the ends of her hair and biting her nails, both anxious habits of hers that had been around since his birth.

When Jodi left, Sam sat down with Vincent at the kitchen table, and they played with the toy soldiers until they heard a knock at the door. Sam looked at his little brother, whose eyes had gone wide, the excitement so palpable it was like the boy was vibrating. 

The door opened and in stepped his father. Only, he didn’t look quite the same. Scars slashed across both of his cheeks, and the line of his jaw, which had always been prominent, seemed to stick out even more. Sam realized his jaw was clenched. His face looked leaner, more haggard, and a deep set pair of circles rested under his eyes.

“Hello, boys,” he said, trying to infuse some cheer into his demeanor. When Sam was younger, he’d modeled his own happy attitude off his dad’s, who seemed to have a permanent smile on his face. But his voice seemed hollow now, and his face more somber. 

He reached out and gave the boys a hug, but there was something hesitant in the way he embraced his sons, like he was scared of getting too close. “What’s that there?” he said as he pulled away, pointing at the set of toy soldiers. 

Vincent beamed. “Those are mine, Dad,” he said. “I set up them up to fight against the bad guys, just like you.”

His father winced, but tried to hide his reaction from Vincent, face twisting into an unrecognizable smile. It was nothing like the wide-spreading grins he’d used to give people. “That’s great, Vincent,” he said, picking up one of the soldiers and examining it. His eyes looked faraway, stuck off in a distant battlefield. 

Sam wished he could snap him back to the present, to where his family was, the people who had been waiting two years to see him. He wanted to scream. Yet, he knew that whatever his dad had been through was much worse than anything they could imagine.

Dinner was filled mostly with the sounds of knives and forks scraping against plates. Any question Jodi or Sam asked received a one word, monosyllabic answer. Gone was the man of a thousand voices from Sam’s childhood.

After dinner, Sam managed to sneak out as Jodi and Kent watched Vincent play with a toy truck. As Sam walked out the door, breathing in the fresh valley air, he felt it clearing his lungs and mind. At least until he had the urge to sneeze three times in a row.

Sebastian seemed surprised when Sam came up the stretch of grass along the river to where he was watching the waterfall across the way. Smoke curled from the tip of his cigarette, which he held delicately between his index and middle fingers. Seb always held things that way, like they would break if he gripped too hard. Sam wondered briefly what it’d be like to be touched with that sort of fragility.

“What are you doing here?” Seb asked after exhaling a cloud of smoke. Sam tried not to think about the way his lips formed an ‘O’ shape as he did so. “I thought your dad came home today.”

“He did.” Sam frowned and stared off into horizon. The sun had just started to lower, painting the sky an array of oranges and pinks. 

Sebastian studied Sam for a moment before dropping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath the toe of his black boot. “It didn’t go well, I take it.” 

“He’s so different now,” Sam said and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s so...distant. I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“He’s probably been through a lot,” Sebastian said. That was just like him. Always logical, always finding a reason for something. 

Sam closed his eyes. He felt tears forming behind them, and he didn’t want to cry in front of Sebastian, even if he was his best friend. “Right, I know that. But I just want my dad back.”

They stood in silence for a while. Then, Sam felt Sebastian’s hand slide into his, lacing their fingers together. Sam opened his eyes and stared at Sebastian, but didn’t say anything. His friend’s cheeks were a furious red, there was no question about it, and Sam could feel a layer of sweat forming on Seb’s palms. He didn’t say anything about that either.

Instead, he squeezed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him into an embrace. 

And amazingly, Sebastian smiled, he could feel it against the side of his cheek. When they broke apart, Sam could see that it was one of his rare genuine smiles, full and stretching and...beautiful. Sam’s breath caught, and it was all he could do to keep himself from moving in for a kiss like in the dream he’d had. He settled for thanking Sebastian and ducking in for a peck on the cheek, so quick that neither boy had time to process what happened.

That was when Sam knew things were going to be okay, as he and his best friend watched the river flow by and the sun dip below the horizon of the valley. They had each other.


End file.
